


nostalgia for a son you never had

by undernightlight



Category: Midsomer Murders - All Media Types
Genre: Bad Parenting, Bi Jamie Winter, Dyslexia, Gen, Jamie's childhood kinda sucked, Jamie's the best uncle, Parent-Child Relationship, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Harm, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28092279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undernightlight/pseuds/undernightlight
Summary: Jamie's parents come to visit. John notices straight away that something isn't quite right.
Relationships: John Barnaby & Jamie Winter, John Barnaby/Sarah Barnaby
Comments: 21
Kudos: 16





	1. unknown numbers

His phone vibrated against the table, rattling the pen pot it rested against. Looking at the screen, he frowned. “Everything alright?” Barnaby asked, sat at his desk opposite.

“Yes,” he said, picking it up. “Just a number I don’t recognise.” He swiped. “Hello?”

John watched the expressions flash across his Sergeant’s face. Obvious confusion, then shock, blaring anxiety.

“Hi, yes, hello,” Jamie stammered out. John could hear him breathing, or more aptly, struggling to. “Sorry, I, I just didn’t recognise the number.” He’d started picking at the corner of his notebook. “Well, yes, that would explain it. It does sound like him.” Jamie’s mouth never quite closed, jaw slacken. “I’m at work right now, maybe -” An abrupt pause. Jamie glanced at him, asking and apologizing in just a look, and John. Jamie mouthed a thank you as he stood. “No, no, it’s alright now, I’ve got a break.”

John watched as Jamie scuttled out of the precinct as quick as he could without actually running. Odd behaviour for an unknown number, but it seemed Winter knew whoever it was on the other end. Still, rather strange. He’d never see Winter quite like that, not truly anxious in that way. He’d seen him get flusters, emotionally stressed or awkward, but never so much that struggled to breathe, never so much that he needed to run away. John kept his eyes trained on the door for a few seconds before dropping them back to the report. He couldn’t stop himself however, from checking every so often, perhaps too frequently, waiting for Winter to return.

Winter did return about fifteen minutes later, looked drained and slightly red in the face. He sat back at his desk and smiled, but it was the fakest, most strained smile he’d ever seen. He waited for an explanation, but it didn’t come.

“Winter, is everything alright?” He finally asked.

Jamie answered, unconvincingly, “Yeah, fine, good.” It didn’t take much for Jamie’s smile to falter further, just a look that was all it took. “My parents, my mother actually.”

“And you didn’t recognise the number?”

“My dad got them both new phones. They, urm, just forgot to tell me.”

A minute crack in Jamie’s voice kept John from pushing it further. There was something more he could tell - he was detective after all - but Winter was under no obligation to share his personal life, despite John being worried; he’d seen enough in his time to know what a strained relationship sounded like from a young man like Jamie. He didn’t push it though, for his Sergeant’s sake.

The rest of the day went by mostly the same as any would. John caught Winter spacing out though, more so than often. That was why John offered to drive when they were called out. Ultimately nothing that warranted them going all the way out there, but better safe than sorry, and it got them out of the precinct.

It wasn’t until they were driving back, Jamie staring openly out the passenger side window, that John broached the subject. “Winter,” he began, waiting, letting it grab Jamie’s attention, “Your parents calling, is everything alright?” He felt like he was repeating himself.

“Urm, yeah. They’re coming for a visit apparently, finally taking an interest in my work.”

“Oh, when?”

“Tomorrow.” John’s startled was evident, and Winter added, “They do that sometimes, forget to tell me things or leave it last minute. I tried to tell them I was working and I couldn’t just take the day off, but they are...stubborn.”

“If you need to, you can take the day.”

“No, it’s alright. They caught me off guard is all, but I’ll be fine.”

The wording didn’t escape John, giving an answer that let more slip than Winter probably thought it would. He didn’t comment on it further, though he wanted to, because there was clearly more to it than was being let on, consciously or otherwise, and while he wanted to make his Sergeant was alright, which he didn’t believe, he also knew Winter wouldn’t tell if he didn’t want to, which seemed to be the case.

The remainder of the drive, and the rest of day, went by uneventfully.

Winter was late in that morning. About twenty minutes, and he apologised profusely as he slid into his desk, and if it hadn’t been for yesterday, John wouldn’t have thought any more of it, would’ve let it go and let their day continue.

Instead, he simply asked, “Your parent’s here already?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, they’re not getting here until this afternoon. I just overslept, that’s all.” Judging by the pallor of Winter’s face and the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn’t just overslept. And his hair was a little out of place, and his tie a little crooked, and everything just a little...off.

John watched as, within his first hour at the precinct, Winter drank five cups of coffee, and not good coffee, just the terrible, half stale police kind that Jamie often complained about but would begrudgingly drink; this time, Jamie drank it like he’d die of thirst of he didn’t. He turned down the donut that Fleur offered that morning too, so even Fleur noticed something was up with him; they exchanged glances over Jamie’s back but nothing more.

It was close to eleven of the rather slow morning, when Constable Nguyen - a uniform John knew to be a friend of Winter - came in. “Sergeant,” she said, gaining his attention. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but there are two people at the desk looking for you.” Winter’s face dropped and he struggled to swallow. “I didn’t say you were in, just that I’d see if you were.”

“That’s alright, thank you Cas.” He stood with a forced smile, and Nguyen continued on her way. “Sorry sir,” Jamie said, pulling in his jacket, “They shouldn’t be here for another...two hours at least. I was going to get them on my lunch break. Do you mind? I’ll just be dropping them off.”

“It’s alright Winter, sort them out. I’ll call if anything urgent comes up.”

“Thank you sir.”

When Jamie returned over an hour later, he’d changed, his light grey suit swapped out for a darker one, blue shirt now black and tie to match. “Sorry I took so long sir,” he said, voice lower, deeper, tired. He tugged off his jacket, threw it over the back of his chair and headed straight for the coffee machine.

“New suit Winter?”

“Oh this, well, my mother might’ve spilt her drink on me.”

“Suit and shirt?”

“It was a large drink sir.”

Paddy sat staring up at him, begging, and John eventually caved, tossing the last end of his sausage which Paddy caught with ease, and he trotted off to eat in peace. Sarah, the wonderful wife she is, exchanged the empty place for a full wine glass, and shortly settled herself beside him on the couch.

“Did I mention Winter’s parents are in town?”

“No,” she said, pulling her legs up under her, “Did you meet them?”

“They arrived at the station but Winter took them home, was gone quite a while actually.”

“We should have them round for dinner.”

“We should?”

“Yes. Look, it might be nice to get to know him a bit more. I mean, you spend enough time with him - it’s been over a year since he became your Sergeant - and we barely know anything about the man. And it’s polite. Ask tomorrow if the day after is any good.”


	2. a boy once again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, not the angst begins

There was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it,” he said to Sarah, planting a kiss on her cheek and setting his wine on the counter. Paddy sat waiting, missing his usual partner in crime - Betty was with the sitter for the evening - wondering who it could be. John did not wonder, and he opened the door to three adults and two bottles of wine.

It was clear, looking at them all together, that Jamie was their son. 

Jamie’s father had a look about him, something old and wise and eccentric, like many people in Midsomer, but more city, more London than John was used to. Very smartly dressed but still a man his age, all grey and a face with deep lines. Jamie’s mother was shorter than them both, a smile all gums, eyes like her son. 

“Hello,” she beamed in a pure London accent. “You must be Jamie’s Chief Inspector, John Barnaby, right?”

“Well, yes.”

“Oh, it is a pleasure to meet you. James speaks highly of you.”

John exchanged glances with his Sergeant at his full name, to which Jamie could only smile awkwardly. Before any comment could be made, the father stepped in, hand out.

“Mr Barnaby,” he said, “Stephen Winter, and my wife Carla. A delight for you and your wife to invite us round for dinner, so very kind.”

Ushering them all inside. “Speaking of my wife,” and John pulled Sarah into his side, arm around her, “The wonderful woman herself, Sarah.” More exchanges, smiles and polite hugs, and then finally to wine.

Considering Sarah and John were already part way through a glass and Jamie was not a wine drinker, he finished his glass first and politely asked for a top up, which was halfway gone before John had drank anymore of his. He slowed after that, nursing the glass, swirling the liquid around, trying to not make it look that he was drinking with intention; perhaps Jamie had forgotten he was a detective.

Everything was very polite, very proper, and John couldn’t help but notice the way Jamie changed. His accent shifted, London coming through strong, stronger than it had been when he’d first moved to Midsomer, and he stood up straighter, held himself talled, stiffer, like he was in the house of a stranger and not a friend. He spoke less, and when he did, it didn’t hold his usual… John wasn’t sure exactly what was lacking, but whatever was missing was the thing that made Jamie sound like Jamie. 

Only ten minutes of chit-chat went before the kitchen timer rang and rattled on the counter, and dinner was ready. Jamie volunteered to help Sarah plate, and soon they were sitting around the table with a homemade roast. Jamie loved Sarah’s Sunday roasts, round at least twice a month, sometimes every week, complimenting every time with that toothy grin of his. This time he ate slowly, pushing the food around with his fork before finally eating it.

“So,” Jamie’s father - Stephen - said, “My son, is he any good at his job?”

John swallowed his food. “Yes, very good. Quick off the block, adaptable, though it took him a while to get used to country life.”

“Ah, as I told him,” came the reply. “Should’ve never left the city, I said. James went off to Nottingham for university, adamant to get out of London. Told him he’d never make it out of the city, and of course he came straight back.”

Jamie had stiffened further as his father had talked, his fork no longer pushing an overly soggy roastie around the broccoli and peas.

“Metropolitan Police. He worked with Cambridge and Oxford boys when he came back, fine young men they were, best of the best.”

“Oh yes, they were delightful,” Carla added. “James introduced us to a few back then. One boy, Thomas, the brightest young man I’d ever met. A good influence on our son, helped straighten him out.”

“Mum,” Jamie said, finally interrupting before she could go further. “They don’t need to hear about my London days.” The smile was forced, tight lipped, polite, but still a smile, and Carla seemed to pay no mind to it’s faud, seemingly ignoring him.

“Oh but he was such a good boy our James. Went a bit rebellious as a teenager, you know how boys are, but he was still good, very respectful, always so proper and disciplined.” She looked at Jamie, smiling, beaming like a proud mother would. “He was a cadet you know. Training for the navy, like his father.”

To which Stephen bolstered, “And he was good until he stopped going. A bright boy but with no ambition.”

“Please, father,” Jamie practically pleaded.

“I have a photo,” Carla said, standing, chair dragging along the wood, to fetch her bag. Jamie’s face dropped, the mildly desperate eyes dropping hollow, as he set his fork on his plate. Upon returning with her handbag, she pulled out a small book, slightly larger than a wallet but smaller than usual photo albums, and thinner. “I always carry it,” she said as she flicked through the pages. “He was such a mummy’s boy when he was little and I just can’t be without it. We see him so little these days, it’s all I have.”

She stopped on a page, pulled the photo out from its plastic sleeve and handed it across to Sarah, who shared it between John. The photo was of a young boy, around thirteen, in a white, brimless cap, black shirt and blue neckerchief. He was smiling, but John knew Jamie well enough that even looking at a photo over a decade old, he knew that smile fake.

“Look at him,” his mother said, “So charming.” The photo was handed back and slotted into place. “I have more,” and as she started turning through the pages, Jamie spoke up.

“Mum, it’s alright. They don’t need to see more.”

“But of course they do James. Why wouldn’t they want to see your sweet young face?”

“I just don’t think it’s necessary.”

Stephen said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Necessary maybe not, but it’ll make your mother happy.”

Jamie nodded, staring down at his plate. And so photos were passed back and forth. Ones of little Jamie Winter, age seven - as the handwriting on the back indicated - in yellow tinted, thick rimmed glasses too big for his child head. Ones of Jamie in school photos, as the years went on, his smile fading, faking. Ones of Jamie on family holiday, little green shorts, sat in a hole deep in the sand. And the entire time, Jamie sat ridgid, awkward, and he barely looked at the photographs.

“James,” Carla said as she looked over one photograph of her son with another young boy, “This was Connor, wasn’t it?” Jamie nodded. “You two were so close, I remember all those times you two would go out, get yourselves into trouble but always harmless, and you were good boys too - tell them about that charity event you both set up.”

“I’d urm, I’d rather not mum.”

“But why?”

“It was a long time ago, I don’t really remember it all that well.”

“Oh sure you do, you must remember, your photo was put up in your school, I remember.”

“I just don’t remember mum.” His tone shifted, cold and sharper, clipped, and for once, it seemed he was not the only one to notice.

“James, don’t use that voice with your mother.”

And Jamie replied almost instantly, though his voice was gritted. “I’m sorry mum.”

It was all rather strange to John, like he wasn’t really there, that there was so much more going on than he wasn’t privy to, which he was sure there was, but what pieces he was missing, or how many, he didn’t know.

“It’s alright,” she said, eyes dropping to the photo still in her hand, before slotting back into its wallet. “I am surprised you don’t remember though. Whatever happened to that boy? I remember when you two were inseparable.”

Jamie tensed further, swallowing hard. “I don’t really remember that either.”

“It doesn’t seem like you remember much from your childhood,” his father chimes as he set down his near empty wine glass. “Everything from before your university days has gotten hazy. Should never have left London.”

“Leaving London has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?” Jamie just stared at him. “Go on James. You seem to have an understanding of these things that I apparently lack.” Jamie’s hand squeezed around his leg, and John felt helpless watching, not knowing what to say, if he should say anything at all. “James, if you don’t have an answer then perhaps -”

“Stop father.” And it was the coldest Jamie had ever sounded, even further from what John was used to. “Just stop it.” And it was the most confident he’d sounded all night. “Nottingham has nothing to do with the memories of my childhood, which are perfectly intact. I choose not to speak of the past.”

“And why is that?”

“You.” He turned to his mother. “Both of you. Going on with stupid little anacdotes that mean nothing to me anymore, because any meaning they may have held has been taken away from me, by you.”

“James, you’re being hysterical, just like you always are.”

“And who’s fault is that?” Any attempt, John realised, at finishing this meal was gone, but he found he wasn’t overly hungry anymore. “You bring this out of me, talking about a little boy who wasn’t quite smart enough for Oxford when you have a perfectly capable son sitting in front of you.”

“James-” his mother called, but he was too far gone now to hear.

“And it’s always been that way, hasn’t it? That blinding by some, some fake nostalgia for a son you never had, neglecting the one you did, making him feel like he was facing impossible standards because he was. You let me suffer and you never did anything to help, just sat by and complained that I wasn’t all I could be if only I put my mind to it. Because it was always my fault wasn’t it? Never yours, you’d never take responsibility for my failure despite being my parents, despite being the ones that were supposed to help me, support me. But why waste your time on a defective kid, right? Not when you had a goal for that kid to focus on instead. How was I supposed to be the son you wanted when you weren’t the parent’s I wanted?”

“James!” Solid hands came slamming on the table, everything rattling, as Stephen stood, furious, teeth like a predator. “Enough!”

And Jamie stared up, his expression snarling equally feral for only a few seconds, tears shining in his eyes, then the aggression started to melt but the pain remained. “You’re right,” Jamie said, “I have had enough.” John could only watch, suck in his chair, as Jamie stood from his chair and walked out the door, slamming it closed behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no surprise, but jamie's parents suck


	3. old habits never broken can make you want to scream

John eventually found him. At first, with the lit end of a cigarette glowing, he dismissed the figure on the bench, but getting closer, he could tell it was Winter, slumped over his knees, head in his hands and pulling at his face. He knew the man well enough to know it was him, but in the time it took John to find him, he looked drastically different.

He approached and sat cautiously beside Winter on the bench. It was heart wrenching when Jamie looked up, face red and patching, tears down his face; he looked so young and scared, and John wondered if he looked like that often as a teenager.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” he said, settling back, looking out into the road, letting Jamie breath.

His Sergeant laughed, choked and strangled. “I don’t, not anymore. I stopped in college.” He wiped the tears from his face, pretending desperately that he wasn’t. “It’s a comfort thing I guess, stress relief. Had to buy a pack.”

“You don’t need to explain anything.”

“I feel like I need to sir.” He took a drag on the half cigarette before stomping it out, disgust written across his tired face. “I’m sorry about all that though, I didn’t mean, I never meant things to get so out of hand. I’m not normally like this, it’s just, when it comes to my parents...”

“Jamie,” John said, calm and flat, and Jamie turned to face him, something still careful but also hopeful in his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for. And you’re not obligated to tell me anything, but I will listen if you want to talk, get it off your chest.”

Jamie considered him for a moment, considered whether it was really worth getting it off his chest, getting it out in the open. He couldn’t take anything back once it had been said, but if he started talking he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop. He might say the wrong thing, say something John doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to know, and then Jamie would feel rather lost again if everything he had here fell apart.

But John looked honest, like he meant it, that he’d listen. Jamie had never really been able to get it out - it wasn’t something that came up in conversation - but John looked like he cared, and maybe that was enough. And he trusted John, with his life on more than one occasion, and this was just another.

He wished he was drunk, things would be easier then. Instead, he lit another smoke despite how much he hated it, hoping that might settle him to speak.

“We don’t exactly get on, me and my parents. Never had, got worse as I got older. The usual teenage drama sure, but it was more than that, before that I mean.” He took a long drag, fiddling with the cigarette in his fingers. “I was a slow learner in school, wasn’t reading when I should’ve been, didn’t have friends like the others. They wanted the perfect son you see, and my failing grades age seven were apparently not a part of that.

“I’ll give it to them though, got me to a doctor early. Dyslexia. Not extreme but not mild. Still takes me a while to get some things done but it doesn’t affect me like it did when I was a kid - didn’t read the Philosopher’s Stone until I was thirteen, and even then it was a struggle. They weren’t patient with me though, especially not dad who just, wanting to act as nothing was different about me. My grades suffered, as you’d expect, but I had some good teachers that helped me out.”

Another long drag and he ran a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “It was argument after argument over every little thing I did. I’d stay up to study and they’d say that was why I wasn’t doing well, that I wasn’t getting enough sleep, so I’d sleep and then they’d say I wasn’t studying hard enough. I couldn’t read something because I was lazy and I didn’t care, and he’d laugh at how long it took me to get through just a page.

“And of course we’d argue over the normal teenage stuff: who I was dating, how long I’d stay out at night...underage drinking. It was suffocating.”

As he squashed the cigarette under his foot, the appeal lost, John spoke. “They were worrying like parents do, looking out for you. They love you Jamie.”

“They don’t love me, they just think they do. They love who I could’ve been, who I used to be. I mean you saw them, still carrying around photos of me when I was a boy, in that stupid sea cadet uniform. I hated it, every minute, but my father was in the Navy, and his father, and his father and his. I was supposed to be next, the fifth generation, and I get stuck with crippling sea sickness. It didn’t matter that I got queasy just stepping on a boat, they kept me in the cadets until I was fifteen. I just stopped going, started skipping, doing anything just not that. They found out eventually, tried to force me to go but I wouldn’t. Oh what a disappointment I was when I joined the police force, but it’s not like that was new to them.

“I was never what they wanted. Never smart enough, never strong enough, never...never straight enough...It’s not my fault. It took me turning twenty six to realise that it wasn’t my fault, that I just wasn’t the son they wanted and just the son they got stuck with.”

When he looked across at John, he wasn’t sure if he felt better or worse. “I’m sorry sir, I shouldn’t have gone on.” He looked at the cigarette box in his hand and tightened his grip; they were now just reminders of everything he thought he’d left behind, but he was still just pulling around, just old baggage.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright Jamie.” A deep breath because Jamie realised he’d started crying again. “I just wish you would’ve said something,” John said, soft and non-accusing. “You could’ve just said you couldn’t make it, that’s all.”

Jamie shrugged. “I didn’t know how. I’m not used to having a choice when it comes to my parents.”

It was rather, unfortunately, depressing to hear. From that first phone call, John knew there was something, but he never would’ve guessed it was as fraught as it was, never guessed until a few years ago he blamed himself for it all. It wasn’t fair, John thought, rather simplistically. Jamie was a good man with a good heart who cared more about his work than himself, and maybe his parents were why; working police as long as he had, there are always connections between childhood and adult life. Even if they were part of the reason Jamie was such a good detective, didn't mean he deserved any of this. 

There was still one thing, and tentatively, John asked, “Who was Connor?”

In a tired voice came the reply. “A friend at first. We met at the start of high school, fast friends somehow; we just sort of...gravitated towards each other. Bloody inseparable we were. Things between us changed when we were fourteen. He came out the year before and I was envious at his confidence, not that I knew that yet. Took him...took him kissing me on an old park swing for me to realise that I was interested.”

“And what happened?”

“Everything was good for a while, a long while in high school standards, over a year. We kept it secret of course, was just easier for everyone. But my dad found out. My mum was away for the weekend visiting family and he was supposed to be taking the same time off elsewhere, but he changed his mind. Found us in my room. Nothing serious, we were awkward fifteen year olds, but the thought of his son with another man was apparently too much for him.

“He made life difficult for me, stopped trusting me, didn’t give me a social life, pressured me to end it. After a month, I gave in, broke up with him with no explanation. He moved to a different Sixth Form so I didn’t really see him much after that, and yet I still think about him, of all those could’ve beens.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t fair on you, and you shouldn’t have had to give it up.”

Jamie nodded along, and John hoped he got the message, hoped he believed it. And then he shivered rather forcefully, his bare arms exposed to the cold evening air. “Come on,” John said standing, “It’s cold out here.” But Jamie didn’t move, still staring at the cigarette. “Jamie,” but still nothing. John lowered himself on the balls of his feet in front of Jamie and carefully plucked the box from his hand. Only then did Jamie look up, his distraction taken away. “I’m sorry about what happened between you and your parents. You didn’t deserve it then and you don’t deserve it now, but that doesn’t mean you should sit out here and freeze.”

After a few seconds of silent deliberation, Jamie slowly nodded and rose to his feet. The way he wrapped his arms around his body was as if he’d only been reminded of the cold by John’s words, made John slip off his coat and drape it over his Sergeant’s shoulders.

“Thank you sir,” Jamie said in a voice not quite his own, pulling it around him as they started walking back. “And I’m sorry for ruining the evening.”

“I assure you, the evening was not ruined by you.”

“And...and my parents?”

“I told Sarah to get rid of them.”

“And you think they’re gone?”

“If they want to survive her wrath, then yes.”

Jamie chuckled, the smallest of smiles on his face. He still didn’t look quite like himself, not yet, still too small, too much like a scared child, too worried about what his parents think of him; he was lacking the usual confidence John was used to, but then he wondered how much of that confidence was put on, years of conditioning so he looked more sure of himself, that he was more competent. Once a can of worms like this was open, it wasn’t easy to close again.

They dawdled back, despite the cold slowly seeping into his bones, but Jamie’s feet dragged and John felt no need to rush him. He was still shaken, processing what he’d said - John doubted it was something he explained often. And John was out of his depth.

When they got back to the house, Jamie’s car was gone, which meant his parents were gone. Hopefully. But when they stepped inside, John hanging up his coat, it was clear it was the case, their coats gone, the house quiet, Sarah rushing to the door.

“Jamie.” She went to hug him, arms half in the motion when she stopped. John could see the hesitation, not wanting to cross any newly found lines, but Jamie smiled, sad but warm, and wrapped his arms around her so delicately.

“I’m fine, really.”

“You’re so cold.” Pulling back, she placed her hands on either side of his face, holding him, checking him over, smiling slightly when she saw no physical harm though it was obvious he’d been crying. “You need a hot drink. Tea or cocoa?”

“Urm, no, it’s alright, I should be getting home.”

She shook her head. “You’re staying here tonight, not only for my own peace of mind but also because your parents took your car and your keys, so you don’t have a choice. Now, tea or cocoa?”

With a shy smile, “Tea, please.” Sarah smiled, taking Jamie in once more, before heading to the kitchen. Turning to John, Jamie said, “I should probably explain what happened.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry jamie i promise i love you


	4. where adventure leads

A knock on the door brought them out of it, and Sarah smiled as she went to fetch it. From behind the wood, Betty’s small frame appeared, clutching at a stuffed rabbit Jamie had gotten her some months back. She loved the toy, carried it with her most places, but when she saw Jamie, the rabbit was discarded to the floor in an instant as she rushed to him, calling his name.

Jamie’s demeanour changed instantly, his tired, drained expression gone as a smile grew on his face and he stood to meet her, scooping her into his arms and spinning her around, her giggling filling the room.

“Uncle Jamie!” She exclaimed when the twirling had stopped.

“Hello Betty. Did you have fun with the sitter?” He asked in voice reserved only for her.

“Yes. We played tea parties and cars and it was so much fun.”

“Wow, a tea party. Sounds like I really missed out.”

She giggled as he placed a gentle, smiling kiss to her temple. He’d always been good with her, and she adored him more than anyone else - except perhaps her parents, John hoped. Jamie was their go-to babysitter, Betty pouting until she had her way, and Jamie always came with a smile regardless of the time - on one occasion, they called him at one in the morning when Sarah’s mother was taken into hospital, and Jamie agreed without hesitation. 

Examining his shirt, she asked, “Are you staying?” To which he nodded, and her grin grew wider. “Will you read me a story tonight?”

“I think that’s up to your mummy and daddy,” Jamie whispered.

“Mummy, daddy,” she practically hollered, Jamie’s spinning giving her more energy than she needed. “Can Jamie read me my story?”

John exchanged glances with Sarah, who’d settled back beside him. It wasn’t really a question that needed answering, because of course they’d let Jamie read her the story, and Jamie knew that too, but he still looked at them with his wide eyes and raised brows as if there was anyway they’d say no.

But John made a show of it, rolling his eyes and sighing. “Oh I suppose so.” Betty grinned and wiggled in Jamie’s grip, but still clung on to his, tiny hands locked around her neck. “So does that mean you're ready for bed?”

“No,” she declared. “I want to stay up with Jamie.”

Another exchanged glance with Sarah before she said. “Okay, but you have to go get your pjs on now, and when we say it’s bedtime, you go straight to bed.” This time, Betty wriggled to free herself, and Jamie set her down with ease. She ran off, Sarah following, smiling back at them. John watched with a smile before turning back to Jamie, who was standing with the softened look on his face that Betty always brought out of him; simultaneously, it aged him and made him look years younger.

“She gets so very excited when you stay,” John said, drawing Jamie’s attention away from the door, who laughed at the comment but nodded. He sat himself back in the chair. “I’m worried one of these days she’ll replace me with you.”

“She would never. You and Sarah…” but he trailed off, looking at his hands, fingers fiddling with themselves. John could see the weight form around Jamie once again, and deciding there’s been enough of that for one night - for perhaps a very long time - John stood to make them tea while they waited. Jamie followed him to the kitchen, feet softly padding on the floor, but didn’t say anything more, and John was happy to let that be, to let him breath and forget for the rest of the night.

The kettle was still boiling when Betty came barrelling back into the room, heading straight for Jamie. Jamie took the child back to the living room, passing Sarah on the way, and sat with her on the floor playing. John made three cups of tea, but they lingered and watched. They caught words every so often, but it sounded like Jamie and Betty were talking in a language of their own, both laughing together, both smiling.

Sarah rested her head against John’s shoulder as he wrapped an arm around her. “I don’t know how we got so lucky.”

“Neither do I.”

They eventually joined them back in the living room, teas in hand, setting Jamie’s on the side table. He thanked them, but he quickly turned his attention back to Betty. It settled surprisingly fast, considering Betty can go hours playing with Jamie without letting up, but half an hour later, Betty was sat content in Jamie’s lap on the floor, his legs crossed and hers hanging over his, his arms wrapped around her. Jamie kept his conversations going between Betty and John and Sarah, switching between his normal voice that had returned since his parents left and the voice he uses for Betty, slightly softer and warmer and higher.

It was bedtime, Betty drifting in and out in his hold. Jamie scooped her once again, her hands linking around his neck like instinct, and he carried her off to bed. John and Sarah stayed as he carried her up. He knew where her room was and he entered, carefully setting her on her bed.

“So what book do you want?” He asked, already walking to her well stocked shelf of stories.

“Can you tell me one?”

“Me?”

“I like your stories.”

It wasn’t what he was planning, but he smiled because he never could say no to her. “Okay, alright.”

Betty shuffled herself under her sheets and to one side of her bed. “Will you sit with me?” And because he couldn’t say no, he nodded, and squeezed himself beside her, half off the bed but that didn’t matter.

“What kind of story then?”

“Adventure.”

“Adventure? Alright.”

“With trolls.”

“With trolls.” He took a breath and thought.

And so he told the story of a young knight and her dog companion as they travelled the land in search of adventure, of when they came across a group of evil trolls in the magic forest who threatened to steal her dog for a magic potion. The knight fought valiantly to protect her canine friend, fending off the magic spells with her enchanted swords, and eventually scaring them away.

“Wait,” Betty said, wrapping her hands around his arm. “Was one of the trolls a child?”

“Why yes. A little boy and his parents.”

“Did the little boy run away too?”

“The knight looks around, and from behind a rock, she sees little fingers poking out, and then little eyes and a little face. And the knights calls out to him, and he appears from around the rock, and he’s all alone now in the dark forest.”

“Can he go with the knight?”

“Does the knight want him to come along?” Betty nodded. “So the knight asks, ‘I am an adventurer, and I travel the land for fun, to explore all I can. Do you want to come with me?’ And the little troll boy looks up at her and smiles and nods his head. And the dog comes running over to him and licks at his hands and he laughs, kneeling down to stroke the dog’s head.”

“Do they get to be friends?”

“Of course. The knight and the troll get to travel together and go wherever they please, and they have such fun because now, they get to travel with a friend, which always makes things more fun, does it?”

Betty nodded against his arm and he smiled down at her. Such a precious little child. “But I think it’s bed time now.” She pouted but nodded, clearly tired. Jamie stood and helped tuck her in all nice and snug. “Now you sleep well, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He kissed forehead, to which she smiled as always, and left her in peace, closing the door behind him.

Heading back downstairs, John and Sarah were still there, still sitting on the couch, the radio now quietly playing a song Jamie didn’t recognise. He smiled as he hovered in the doorway. “I know it’s early, but I’m going to try and get some sleep. Again, thank you for letting me stay the night.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” Sarah said, “Go get some sleep, we’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight.”

And Jamie left, heading back upstairs, John watching until he could no longer hear the footsteps. “Do you think he’ll be alright tomorrow?” He asked his wife, to which she could only shrug. “At least we don’t have work. Hopefully the weekend will do him some good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uncle jamie is precious


	5. pancakes for the kids

When Sarah woke up, her husband was already gone from bed, most likely downstairs. She chuckled to herself because of course he’d still be up early when he could finally sleep in. She pulled herself from the warmth of the bed and wrapped herself up before venturing out of the bedroom.

As she did every morning, she went to check on Betty, but found her bed empty. She wasn’t often up this early, and she turned to the stairs, but thought it best to check on Jamie, noticing his door half open. Only popping her head in, she couldn’t help but smile to see Betty snuggled up against him, both of them still fast asleep. A sweet sight first thing in the morning.

Letting them rest, she went to the kitchen, finding John reading the paper with his morning cup of coffee. She planted a kiss to his cheek. “You’re up early for a Saturday,” she said, with which he offered a shrug. “The kids are still fast asleep,” she added, waiting for John’s reaction, but he just nodded.

“Probably both need it.” A second later, he frowned and set down his paper, and she couldn’t help but laugh at the delay. “The kids?”

Sarah nodded as she sat beside him with her own mug of coffee, and John thought. There was an element of truth in it, John couldn’t help but realise. Not a child as in young or naive, but a child in the sense he needed to be protected, sheltered not because he couldn’t handle the weight of the world but because he shouldn’t have to. Thinking about it, he’d say the same about his daughter.

“How do you think Jamie will feel about pancakes for breakfast?”

John stared, processing, switching lanes of thought. “Hmm? Oh, pancakes, yes, I’m sure he’d be good with that.” Sarah smiled, kissed him, and set about breakfast. As the second batch of pancakes were plated up high, footsteps were heard down the stairs, and into the room emerged two sleepy people, both rubbing at their eyes. Betty took a hold of Jamie’s hand, whose hand came around her without question as he yawned, and they both trotted over to the table.

“Morning you two,” John said. Jamie smiled while Betty turned her attention momentarily to Paddy, before trotting over to her mum. Her tiredness seemed to vanish almost instantly when she saw the small tower of pancakes, a tower that was still growing.

“Pancakes!” She cheered, teeth bared, and everyone chuckled at her enthusiasm.

“Coffee Jamie?” Sarah asked.

“Please.”

Jamie sat at the table and rubbed at his eyes again. “Feeling better?” John asked.

To which he nodded. “Yes sir, I am, thank you.”

He looked better than he had yesterday. Sleep had done him good, as had Betty - she had that effect on people, and especially Jamie - with him looking like himself again, sounding like himself, and though his smiles were tired, they were his.

“Betty end up with you last night did she?” Sarah asked as she brought over his coffee.

He thanked her. “Yeah. Around midnight I think she came in, and I was still awake so it was fine. She wanted to stay and I just let her.”

“We talked about the trolls,” she called out, jumping around to sit by Jamie.

With the looks from her parents, Jamie added, “The bedtime story. Trolls and knights and adventure,”

Breakfast was surprisingly normal compared to the evening previous. The pancakes were delicious, as they always were when Sarah made them, and there were none left by the time they were all done. Jamie and Betty ate most of them, Betty being a child with a sugar craving to rival a horse and Jamie having barely eaten his dinner, but it was good to see his appetite had returned. Jamie helped Sarah short out the dishes before being pulled away for playtime with his niece.

They filtered off one by one to dress, Jamie last, shifting uncomfortably in yesterday’s clothes, but it eased when he was distracted, whether by play or conversation.

“I hate to ask,” Jamie said when Betty was indisposed with Paddy, “but is there any chance of a lift back? I don’t want to put you out more than I already have.”

“Nonsense, you haven’t put us out at all. John will be happy to give you a life back, right John?”

Shaking his head, “Sir-”

“Of course I’ll give you a lift Winter, it’s not a problem.” John drank the last of his coffee. “And Sarah’s right, you haven’t put us out at all, I want you to know that.” Jamie nodded, though it wasn’t entirely convincing.

Not long later, they were arriving outside of Jamie’s block. The ride had been quiet, and John didn’t blame him for that. Jamie sat fiddling with his hands, focusing on anything except where they were going, who would be there. They parked, and they sat in silence for a few moments, Jamie staring at the building before he eventually took a deep breath and climbed out. John followed.

“You don’t have to come in sir, I don’t want to be a hassle.”

And John nodded, acknowledging the point. “I’ll wait here, if that’s what you want, but I don’t mind coming in, it’s no hassle.” And Jamie stalled, looking over the top of the car, thinking, keeping his breathing steady.

Then, “I’d appreciate you coming with me sir, if that’s alright, just for a moment.”

“Of course.” He rounded the car to Jamie and smiled, and they made their way through the building and up the stairs and along the hall to flat 304. Without his keys, Jamie knocked, taking a deep breath before doing so. John could see his hand shaking just slightly when he wrapped his knuckles against the door, which opened a few seconds later to the face of Carla Winter.

“James, where were you last night, you didn’t come home.”

“I stayed with the Barnaby’s, mum,” Jamie said, motioning to John behind him, that London twang coming back into his voice. “Can we come in?”

It was his flat, so he shouldn’t have to ask but he still did. Carla stepped aside and they entered. His dad was in the living room, sat on the couch, but stood when they came in. Jamie’s demeanor shifted further when faced with his father, back straightening, hands folding behind his back.

“So, you decided to come back.”

“I live here.

“You didn’t come back last night. We didn’t know where you were when we came back here.”

“Like I said, I stayed with the Barnaby’s. I thought it was for the best, all things considered.”

“But you’ve come back now to apologise I assume.”

“I…” Jamie took a breath, struggling to form words.

“Come on James, spit it out, don’t stutter.”

“His name is Jamie.” Maybe John should’ve kept his mouth shut, should’ve left this as a purely biological family matter, but he didn’t appreciate what this was doing to Jamie, who was, undoubtedly, part of his family. The look of shock coming from every face in the room felt worth it though; Stephen and Carla - Stephen specifically - looked personally offended that someone dared correct them, speak up against them, and Jamie looked surprised that someone would stand up against his parents, his eyes also scared but hopeful.

“His name,” Stephen spat, “is James. And up until last night, has always been a very respectful son. I must say, Midsomer is clearly not the environment in which he thrives.” He turned to his son, “You should move back to London, rejoin with the Met. You were going places there.”

“I urm, I like it in Midsomer, and I don’t want to go back to London.”

“It’s just because you haven’t been back in a while,” his mother offered. “You should come back with us, stay the week, enjoy the city again. You’ve missed it.”

Jamie managed a struggling laugh. “I can’t just take a week off of work with no notice. And, and even if I could, I wouldn’t use that time to go to London.” He glanced back at John, took a breath, and turned back. “If I had a week off, I wouldn’t use that time to come visit you.”

“How dare you speak like that to your mother, to both of us.”

Another pained laugh. “I thought you taught me to always be honest, dad, but whenever I am, whenever I say what I really mean, you dismiss it as disrespectful. Everytime. Without question. And so doesn’t that say more about you than it does about me?”

“James-”

“Jamie,” John interrupted again before things could get too far, resting a hand on his Sergeant’s shoulder. “Why don’t you pack a bag? You can stay with us for the weekend.” He felt the tension melt under his fingertips, a shuddered breath escaping, and then Jamie nodded and walked off without another word. John was left with his parents.

“You’re a bad influence.” Stephen said. “As is Midsomer County.”

“Your son is an incredibly intelligent man Mr Winter, and so I doubt he could be swayed by a few trees and cows.”

“This is not something to joke about.”

“Oh I think it is because you seem to not understand your son at all, and so for you to take the stance that you do, it’s laughable. Like I said, he is very intelligent, and a man I am proud to have as my partner. What he said, regardless of the manner it was said in, was honest, and I think you should think about that, and when you have something other than aggression to express, you know where to find your son, Jamie, if he chooses to see you.”

Speaking of the intelligent and competent Sergeant, Jamie came back into the room, in a fresh t-shirt, jacket and bag in hand. “I’m packed sir.” He appeared calmer, collected, his voice floating with his normal accent again.

“Ah good, come on then Winter, we should be getting home.” Jamie nodded, and they left without another word.

It wasn’t until they reached the elevator, that Jamie started to crumble. The bag dropped from his hand, a heavy, dull thud sounding through the small space. His hands clambered to grasp something, finally finding the railing as he leant back against it, struggling to keep himself upright. All the confidence he had when he’d entered the living room with his bag, fell away from him, leaving Jamie struggling to breathe.

“Jamie?” John positioned himself in front of him, hands bracing against Jamie’s arms.

“I’m okay. That was...that was just, a lot for me. I’ve never, I don’t…”

“It’s alright, you’re okay.” The elevator dinged. “Come on,” he said as he picked up Jamie’s bag. He was able to stand alright and walk fine, and they left the building. Jamie climbed in as he put the bag in the back seat, and when he settled into the driver’s side, Jamie was still distant, eyes now glossy. “Jamie, it’s okay.”

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just...I heard what you said - thin walls - and, and thank you. Not even my parents say things like that about me.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go so long without hearing.”

“It’s not your fault sir.”

“Maybe I could’ve told you sooner.” And Jamie looked at him, mouth drawn tight, jaw clenched. “I could’ve said these things sooner, to your face. I meant it, all of it, of course. A fine young Sergeant and a fine young man, and I’m proud to know you.” Jamie stared out the front window, barely able to contain himself, and John didn’t know what to do to console him.

But before he could find the right words to say, “Thank you.”

John nodded. “It’s alright. Now let’s get home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am unbelievably soft for:  
> 1\. dad john  
> 2\. mum sarah  
> 3\. uncle jamie  
> 4\. but also jamie and betty giving off sibling vibes fight me


	6. air that could suffocate but a weight now lifted

Betty greeted Jamie with waiting arms, and he only just managed to drop his bag down before he was tackled. As he so often did these days, he swept her into his arms and settled her against his side. As he went to pick up his back, John swept in instead. “It’s alright, I’ll take that up for you.”

“Thank you sir,” with his usual smile, as he carried his niece into the living room.

John watched a moment, listening to Betty ask if they could play in the garden before he headed up stairs. He left the bag on the bed, and Sarah was in the bedroom folding sheets and towels. “Did I hear Jamie downstairs?”

He kissed her cheek. “You did. I hope you don’t mind that I invited him to stay the weekend.”

“No, of course not. What happened when you went back to his?”

“Well, his parents were there. His father demanded he apologize for what was said last night.”

“And did he?”

And with a proud smile, John said, “No.” He quickly shifted his tone though, as happy he was that Jamie stood up from himself. “I am worried though. When we got into the lift, he looked like he was ready to faint. I imagine they’ve put him under stress for a long time.”

Sarah folded the last of the towels and kissed his cheek, arms coming around him. “Then I’m especially glad you’ve invited him for the weekend. Betty must be thrilled.”

“I haven’t told her yet, but I’m sure she will.”

More gentle kisses - for his wife could never have too many - before they headed downstairs together. The patio doors were open and laughter filtered into the kitchen. Jamie had agreed - or perhaps was just pestered enough and finally came in - to Betty’s outdoor play, and they were accompanied by Paddy, running to fetch the ball before Betty could get her hands on it. Sarah made tea and they watched from inside.

‘The kids,’ John kept thinking, the words not leaving his head since Sarah had said them that morning. He’d always been close with his Sergeants. Ben was fantastic from the start, becoming Betty’s wonderful and loving godfather, and while things started a little rocky with Charlie, they soon evened out, and John trusted him with his life. And then there was Jamie, attempting to fill two very large pairs of shoes, and there was no denying Jamie was different from them, but different was not a bad thing, as he learnt with Nelson.

Things were different in other ways. Charlie and Ben were different people, but he thought about them in the same way, as his sergeants but also as friends, extensions of his family but with no specific role, but Jamie was...his case was more complicated, but looking out across to the garden, Jamie laying on the grass and Betty sat on his chest - who knew what those two got up to - John was slowly starting to realise the difference was that Jamie had a family position in his world, and that position was son.

He didn’t say it out loud, but knowing Sarah and looking at her, tea in her hands, watching them, he would guess she felt the same. Thinking about it, now that he really was thinking about it, he realised that perhaps this wasn’t some sort of revelation, but just a realisation, because things didn’t feel any different and John couldn’t imagine that anything would change; Jamie was a son to him, and had been for quite some time, it just took meeting Jamie’s biological parents to make him realise this.

The back patio light was on. John had only just gone upstairs, ready to join Sarah in bed, but had left his phone downstairs. He expected Jamie to still be sitting in the chair, empty mug still in his hands as it had been for an hour, but instead, the chair was empty and the back patio light was on.

Stepping out onto the concrete in nothing but socks to shield his feet sent a shiver through him. Jamie was sitting looking at him at the sound of the door, a cigarette barely lit between his fingers. He offered a smile as John sat beside him.

“Another cigarette?”

Jamie tapped it against his knee, and the ash fell to the ground. “Once you start, it’s hard to stop, I've found.” The packet, next to the lighter, lay on the table, and Jamie reached out for it, only to slide it across to him. “Maybe you should take these. If I don’t have them, I can’t smoke them.”

“I don’t have a problem with it, as long as it’s not in the house or around Betty.”

“I’d still rather you take them from me sir.” John nodded, picking up the partially crumpled box and dark green lighter, and slid them in his pocket. “Thank you,” Jamie added, taking a long drag.

Hoping Jamie would stop him if he pushed too far, John started with questions, wanting, needing, to know what he could do for his Sergeant. He started small. “Did the smoking start because of your parents?”

With a huff, “Something like that, yeah. Stress relief partly, partly because I liked that it gave them a reason to argue with me.”

“You wanted a fight?”

“No, but I’d rather it be about me smoking or drinking or whatever other self destructive stuff I was doing than my inability to read a simple book.”

John feared they were getting into heavy territory far quicker than he thought or intended, but he still found himself asking. “Self destructive?” And Jamie laughed, pained and strangled but also something else, but it faded quickly; he was protecting himself from his own emotions, John figured, for that laugh was far too family from far too many people. “You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s fine, I don’t mind it.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It seems fair for you to know, you know more than anyone else, just…I may be asking too much sir, but I hope that what’s happened over the last few days won’t change things. I don’t want...pity or anything like that - I’m still good at my job.”

“Jamie I have no doubt that you are good at your job as I have seen so with my very eyes. And in regards to things changing, I will think of you no differently.”

With a slow, processing nod and a smoke, Jamie spoke. “Well, you know about the smoking and the drinking. I was too young for either when I started, and the drinking wasn’t that often, only when I knew they’d find out; was rather stupid of me in hindsight, and while I do still like a good drink, it’s not like it was when I was a teenager.

“Self destructive ranges I guess, mostly because at the time I didn’t really view it as destructive, not really. It helped me deal with it all, but of course it didn’t do me any favours in the long run.” Jamie pressed his free hand into his opposite arm, pushing and rubbing at the skin under his jacket. “It was never… I never ended up in hospital, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t serious at times. I think I was just lucky, mostly.” Jamie pressed harder. “It’s been a long time since I did anything like that though.”

“Did you ever…” John started before he thought to stop himself; Jamie, pressing against his arm, pressure increasing, didn’t escape him, and he was smart enough to know what that meant.

“Attempt?” Jamie attempted to clarify, and John nodded, rather hesitant. “No. I was too scared I think, but it wasn’t quite like that with me. It wasn’t ‘I want to die,’ more of ‘I don’t want to live.’ They meant different things to me.”

It was hard to know what to say following that. What do you say to someone who has been through so much? Jamie spoke as he was still processing, breaking a slowly growing silence as he stomped out his cigarette. “It’s alright sir, it’s a lot, I know. And to put your mind at rest somewhat, I’m not a danger to myself anymore, not like that.”

“Not like that?”

“Well,” in a lighter tone, “I’m still a slightly reckless police sergeant, but I’m learning; had to learn the hard way not to go awol but it’s a lesson I won’t forget anytime soon sir. It helps to be partnered with a very good chief inspector.”

Jamie laughed more than John did, more than he found he was able to. “I’m happy to hear I won’t be rid of you anytime soon Jamie.”

“Happy to be wanted sir.”

“John.”

Jamie frowned.

“I thought maybe, outside of work, you could call me John. It is my name after all.”

Jamie’s confused expression melted into a small, comfortable smile. “I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Now, I think we should both be going to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so the story is basically eight chapters with two shorter epilogues, so yeah don't worry


	7. blue

“I think Paddy wants a walk,” Jamie said, the dog practically sitting on his feet, looking up with expecting - demanding - eyes. “Mind if I take him?”

“Not at all,” Sarah said, “but is it alright if I come with you?”

“Of course, he’s your dog.”

Lead clipped, coats on, ball in hand and Betty waving them off, they stepped out, Paddy pulling Jamie down the driveway as soon as his paws hit the gravel. At least he calmed once they reached the pathment. It luckily wasn’t overly coat, with their coats on they were fine, but the wind still blew in irregular pacing, blowing their about. Paddy did not seem to mind, happily trotting along, sniffing as he went.

They weren’t at it long before Jamie spoke. “Thank you again for letting me stay. I hope I’m not putting you out too much.”

“Jamie, you’re not putting us out, you never do, so please stop worrying.” She smiled at him. “We’re happy to have you around, always.”

“I appreciate it, greatly, I do.” Paddy stopped to sniff a tree.

“Have they tried contacting you since yesterday?”

Jamie shook his head. “No. I’m hoping they might try - no one else has ever said anything to them so John’s helped - but I’m not expecting it. They’re quite stubborn, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Paddy, now bored of the tree, continued.

“When are they heading back?”

“This evening.” He huffed a tired laugh. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they just went back to London without saying anything.”

“They’d do that?” Jamie, unfortunately, nodded.

Poor boy, Sarah couldn’t help but think. She had a good relationship with her parents when they were both alive, and when her father passed, it only strengthened her relationship with her mother - shared grieving can help the heart. She loved them both, and was warmed to know they loved her too. She couldn’t imagine what it would do to someone to have parents like Jamie’s, the relationship crumbling before it was ever even stable.

No one deserved that, especially not Jamie. Perhaps, she thought as they reached a field and led Paddy off his leash, it was why Jamie was so protective of Betty. Sarah always worried, as parents often do she imagined, that she and John would do something that would irreparably shape their daughter’s future in a way they never intended. Looking at Jamie’s parents, who seemed clueless about their son’s attitude, emphasised this worry. Of course, she wouldn’t do anything like what they had to Betty, but no one sets out to have a damaged relationship with their kid.

Jamie was protective of Betty, like a brother would their baby sister. He was always there to babysit, always to her delight, and he never turned down playtime - finding Jamie with a tutu around his neck because it was the only way it would fit him was a joyfully hilarious sight. He would hold her end whenever she wanted, would let her sit in his lap and wrap his arms around her, would carry her and keep her close when she felt asleep after a long day out. Sarah could tell he’d do anything for her, just as she and John would. One big happy family, though, as current, not as happy as they could be.

But that would change, Sarah would ensure it.

“What do you want for dinner?” She asked, his head whipping round as Paddy’s ball left his hand.

“Me?”

“Well I wasn’t talking to the dog.”

“I don’t need anything done special, I’m happy with whatever, you know me.”

“Need, perhaps not, want and desire, definitely - there must be something.” Jamie shrugged as he threw the ball again. “You aren’t being a hassle Jamie. So tell me, please.”

He frowned, more directed at himself than at her, as he nervously adjusted his jacket, tugging at it. Paddy barreled his way across the grass, and Jamie waited for the ball to be dropped before him, to throw it, before he spoke. “Your chicken curry,” he said, voice quite, timid and guilty, and he quickly started going, “If it’s too much or you have to go out for the stuff, don’t worry about it and I’ll-”

“Jamie,” she said, contrasting his panic with her calm. Her hand came to his back, gentle, light circular motions like she would if calming Betty. “It’s alright. Chicken curry for dinner it is.” He smiled, nerves still present but they were fading, his smile warm as he nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Oh course.”

Surprisingly perhaps, she knew he liked her curry. She’d sent John in with leftovers once, a tub for both him and Jamie, and Jamie’s came back practically licked clean. John passes along the vocal compliment. Whenever she made it, she ensured there were leftovers for Jamie, or invited him round, and every time, his plate was always clean. He seemed to enjoy most things she cooked, but she knew when someone really enjoyed their food, and when it came to her chicken curry, Jamie couldn’t contain his joy.

A good choice she thought.

“Daddy,” Betty said with her stuffed rabbit in hand.

“Yes little one?”

“What’s wrong with Uncle Jamie?”

“Wrong? Why do you think something’s wrong?”

“When I go to see him, he looks sad, but then he smiles at me and we play but he’s still a little sad. And I don’t like it when Jamie is sad.”

A perceptive child, he thought, though children often are, more than they’re given credit for, and Betty was a very smart young girl. And she loved her uncle very fun, so somehow, it wasn’t surprising that she knew something was wrong. John clearly couldn’t tell her what exactly was going on, but denying it wouldn’t do her any good.

He pulled her up onto his lap. “Jamie’s had a very hard few days, that’s why he’s staying with us for the weekend.”

“Why?”

“His parents weren’t very nice to him.”

“Why?”

He sighed, because he didn’t really have an answer. “Sometimes, there isn’t a reason. Sometimes, people are just mean.”

“That’s not fair. I’m going to make Jamie happy again.” She wriggled herself off his lap and went running off, her destination not known to him but he was curious to find out what she had in mind.

Paddy was the first through the door, bolting to his food bowl as every dog does. “Nice walk?” He heard John say to the dog, with no obvious response but the sound of chomping kibble, but that was to be taken as a yes with Paddy. Feet were heard on the laminate, quick little steps, and around the corner appeared Betty, marker on her hands and even a little on her face, and a piece of paper clutched in her grip.

“Jamie, Jamie,” she said. He crouched down to her level as Sarah sidestepped them into the living room.

“Hello Betty.”

“I made you this.” She handed over the paper, and Jamie looked it over. It was clear how she got the marker on her hands, as the paper was covered in colour, lots of blue and green and purple, with squiggles and shapes that resembled people, and one shape that resembled a four legged friend. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I do, I love it.”

“Look, it’s me,” she said, pointing at the smallest of the stick people, “And that’s mummy and daddy, and that’s one’s you,” pointing at the tallest. “Your blue because daddy said blue’s your favourite colour.”

“Well your daddy is a very smart man because blue is my favourite colour.” The smile that beamed from little Betty’s face made him smile back equally big, and he probably looked rather daft, but it didn’t matter.

“Are you happy now?”

“Happy?”

“Daddy said your parents were mean and it made you sad. Are you happy now?”

His smile dropped to something smaller and warmer, but it didn’t leave his face. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m happy now.” He enveloped her in a hug, her small frame engulfed in his. He was happy, but if Betty saw the tears that threaten to fall, she would surely think him a liar. Her little hands held onto him, and he felt grounded. Opening his eyes, he saw John and Sarah watching them, arms around each other and warm smiles on their faces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mum sarah strikes again
> 
> and precious betty loves him so much


	8. home not longer in gasp for it finally wraps around

Dinner was normal. They sat around the table and ate Sarah’s homemade chicken curry - and he enjoyed it thoroughly as he always did - with music playing in the background - songs he didn’t know, which led to John saying, “My Sergeant’s practically still a child.” It all felt good. Conversation was normal, like it would be if it were any other night, with no talk of his parents or anything even close, but it didn’t feel like avoidance; Jamie felt content with how things were.

There was a knock at the door. Knowing who it could be, though he wasn’t exactly hopeful, Jamie stood, offering to get the door. Paddy followed after him. Opening the door, Jamie was met with the face of his parents, looking as they always did. Paddy growled, barked once, that ran back to the kitchen.

“We can’t stay long,” his mother said, an awkward little smile on her face. “We just wanted to see if you would be coming to London with us?”

He stared at them, unable to process their words because, did she really just say that? “Mum, did you not hear me yesterday? I’m not coming to London.”

“But that was yesterday. I thought maybe you’d changed your mind.”

Jamie rubbed at the bridge of his nose, shifting his weight against the door. “No. I’m staying in Midsomer, now and for the foreseeable future.” He felt a headache coming on, looking at his father’s unamused expression.

“I don’t see why you insist on staying here. London has much better prospects; raise those standards of yours, don’t be the Winter that lets the line down.”

Jamie was, often, a patient young man, and for all twenty eight years of his life, he’d been patient with his parents, but he was finally reaching the end of the rope, a rope he once thought was endless but knew now it only felt that way because he was never really moving up the rope to begin with; he’d been stuck in the same with his parents for at long as he could remember. How had he put up with it for so long? Arguments like this had happened in that past, and when it reached this point, Jamie would cave, apologise and work to get back in their good graces - studying harder, working longer shifts, going out of his way to impress and please.

Jamie was different now; he was sick and tired and utterly fed up of this repeating cycle, so maybe it was time to end it. But he had to ask first, had to be sure that there was no hope for them.

“Mum, dad, do you really not understand?”

“Understand what?” She asked him.

And that was his answer, because if they didn’t understand now, they never would. And he felt his heart crack a little, just enough for a fragment to break off and lodge in his throat. He wanted to be done with them, with this cycle, with feeling like he was never good enough to be their son, but no matter what, they would always be his parents. It wasn’t easy to break those ties, to cut the rope, but he knew he needed to - he had never even known it was an option until these last few days.

Things could change so quickly.

“Well,” he said, struggling to know what words were the right words, but also feeling like there were no right words for something like this. “I hope you have a safe trip back to London. I would appreciate it if you don’t contact me anymore.”

And before he could continue, his father butted in. “Excuse me? How dare you, we are your family.”

“No,” Jamie said, voice matching parts annoyed, angry and tired, cutting him off. The shock on his face. “Unless you’re able to identify the problem, the reason we don’t have a good relationship, then I don’t want to be contacted.”

And his mother said, in a rather heartbreaking way. “We don’t have a good relationship?” But that was part of the problem, their inability to see, to listen and understand him beyond what was in their head. Maybe they never would.

He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it’s not good for me, what’s between us, it never has been.”

“Are you sure you won’t come to London? I’m sure your father could put a good word in at the Met - you know people there don’t you Stephen?”

Jamie was tired of them now, and held his hand up for silence. They both waited. “I wish you the best in London, and a safe trip back.” And then he closed the door. He just stood there for a few moments, eyes unfocused on the door in front of him, hand still on the handle. Paddy letting out a bark startled him back to his environment, the dog sat staring up at him. He smiles, scratched Paddy on the top of his head, and made his way back to the dining table.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked as he took his seat.

“Yeah,” he managed with a deep breath, “yeah, all good.”

Dinner finished up with no further interruptions, conversation picking up where it had left up. Jamie had helped with the washing up despite Sarah saying he needn’t bother himself, and then he played a while with Betty; she had acquired new finger paints and was insistent on trying them out before bed. The paint washed off easily, but Jamie didn’t know if the same could be said in regards to his shirt, a small Betty-sized hand print in purple on the shoulder. If it didn’t wash out, it wouldn’t be the worst.

Sarah took Betty up - bath then story then bed - leaving John and Jamie downstairs, the radio still playing songs Jamie didn’t know but did not hate.

“A long weekend,” John said as they sat with glasses of wine in the living room.

“Indeed.” He let out a breath. “Thank you again, for everything. I’m not quite sure how I would’ve managed if not for your kindness - you and Sarah.”

“No need to thank us Jamie, it’s the least we could do - don’t forget, it was us that invited them round her for dinner to begin with.”

“Oh, I assure you, even if you hadn’t there would’ve been arguments, I just would’ve been stuck in my apartment with them, not knowing what to do with myself.” He took a drink, a large one. “It’s going to be different, maybe. I mean, I don’t see them much anyway, and who knows if they’ll actually respect my wishes and not contact me, but I can’t take back what I said.”

“You were honest with them, nothing wrong with that.”

“I just don’t think they understand.” Another drink and his class was empty; he’d been going through drinks far quicker than he usually would. “I hate that I have to cut them out of my life. They don’t know what they’ve done, but that’s part of the problem; it just makes it harder, punishing them when they don’t think they’ve done anything wrong.”

John offered him a sympathetic smile as he cradled his glass. “Somethings, that’s just what we have to do, prioritise ourselves, even at the expense of others, regardless of what they’ve done or if they know they’ve done it.” Jamie nodded, knowing it to be true, but it didn’t make it easier.

“More wine?” John asked, but Jamie shook his head. “Tea? Coffee? I’m pretty sure Sarah has cocoa around too, just in case.” And maybe it was because of the weekend he’d had or because he was just wanting something different, but he nodded.

“Cocoa,” he said, voice like a child, small smile on his face.

"Cocoa it is,” John agreed, a smile in his voice also. “Come on then son," he added, standing for the kitchen. 

"I'm coming," Jamie replied before he'd processed exactly what had been said. And when he had, his steps faltered. His mind and body stalled.

When John said it, it felt warm and kind, loving, a show of connection and emotion. When his father said, it was possession, ownership, it was power over him. It wasn't like that with John, because when John said it, he felt as light as he ever had. It wasn't a big thing, and yet it meant everything and nothing in so many ways. 

“Jamie?” John said looking back at him, obviously his mind wasn’t quite with him, but his name brought him back to the living room.

“Sorry,” as he shook his head free, “sorry.” And his legs started up again, moving into the kitchen.

John put the kettle on. “You’ll be alright you know, regardless of how things turn out with your parents.” He began hunting through the cupboards and Jamie pulled out mugs.

“I know, it’s just, it’s hard to not think of things differently now. But I’ll be alright.” And he would be, he knew that, because he may have lost his parents, but that didn’t mean he was without a loving family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jamie's parent's don't change, they still assholes, but hey, he don't need them, he got the barnabys
> 
> that's the end! that's the official end!! i've got two epilogues to upload and i'll either to that later today or tomorrow, and post them at the same time since they're both short, but i hope you've enjoyed this as much as I have


	9. epilogue: orange

"Chief Inspector," Nguyen said, approaching his desk. "A delivery for you sir." She handed him the box, and he smiled politely. 

"Thank you Constable." With a simple nod, she left, flashing a quiet smile at Jamie as she went, one he returned. 

John had an idea what was in the box, since he hadn't ordered anything else. Jamie was watching from his desk - John never ordered anything to his station. Plucking his scissors from the organiser, he ripped along the packaging tape, and into the box was another, smaller box, which he retrieved. They were what he thought they were, and he smiled. 

He held the box out to Jamie. "For you," he said.

Jamie stared at the box, then at him. "For me?" 

"Yes. Here, take it." And Jamie did, with a hesitant hand, and placed it on his desk, neatly centred, and then just looked at it. "There's something in the box Winter, you can open it."

Jamie's eyes darted between him and the box, before he eventually nodded, and picked up the box again. The cardboard box opened with ease as Jamie pulled at the tab, and he tipped the box, and from it slid a plastic case. A glasses case. With another glance up to him, Jamie was clearly confused, but opened the case regardless. Inside, wrapped in a cleaning clothier, were black rimmed glasses with tinted orange lenses. 

Jamie picked them up, turned them over on his hand. Like the ones he had when he was a kid. "You mentioned you used to wear orange glasses when you were younger," John said, which drew Jamie's attention up. With his voice a little quieter, "And you said that, at times, it still takes you a little longer to get through some things. I thought maybe they'd help."

It was considerate. Jamie looked at them again. It had been a long time since he'd worn coloured glasses; he forced himself to grow out of them, for his parents were cruel with their jokes. He was hesitant as he unfolded the handles, and then carefully popped them onto his face. Everything was suddenly much warmer as he scanned his surroundings. It felt strange, but familiar. 

Jamie thought if it was anyone other than John had given him these, at any time before now, he would've politely declined the need for them - sure he'd accept the gift, he was British, but that wouldn't mean he'd use them. But they were from John, and the glasses were picked purely because they would help him; John went out of his way for him. it made his face warm.

John looked across at him expectantly, but not for a thank you but because he wanted to see if they worked or not, if Jamie would actually find them useful. And so Jamie smiled and scanned along his computer screen, John watching his eyes left to right. Then Jamie frantically pulled a file in front of him, opened it, and with the guide of his finger, began reading that too. The smile that grew on Jamie’s face was enough of an answer for John.

Jamie still spoke though, explaining, “It’s weird, I haven’t been able to get through words this fast in a long time - the letter’s, it’s like they’re in the right order and not all messed up.” And Jamie looked at him with a smile and bright, wide eyes, reminding John of how young he was, and off all the things he’d been denied, actively or otherwise, by his parents. At least Jamie didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

“I’m glad they help.”

“Thank you sir, really.”

John smiled. Jamie’s happiness was enough of a thanks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> john looking out for his son *chef's kiss*


	10. epilogue: all consumed

Jamie sat in his bedroom, small fists clenched in his lap, focusing on the pain of his nails digging into his palms, white crescents present in his flesh. He’d tried to hard, spend hours revising for that stupid mock exam, spend weeks going over his notes, forcing himself to reread the book, and he hated every seconds of the book but he knew it inside and out - he had to with how long he’d stared at those pages - but he still only got a B.

The moment that test was placed on his desk, and he saw the circled grade, his heart started racing and he couldn’t breathe. Mr Anderson smiled at him, “Well done Jamie,” he said, the smile beyond genuine. “That’s your best mark yet.” And then Mr Anderson went on his way, most tests to place in more desks.

Mr Anderson’s words didn’t reach him, didn’t sink in while he was at school, didn’t sink in when he got home and his parents asked about his score, didn’t reach him at all as his father looked over the paper and said, “With all that studying, I would’ve thought an A, but I suppose your lack of sleep last night would have something to do with it. You should balance that out more James.”

Jamie had gone upstairs to his bedroom, and sat on his bed with clenched fists. Why wasn’t he good enough? He worked so hard but it was never enough, and he didn’t understand why his parents couldn’t see that. He wanted to scream but he couldn’t. Instead, he cried because it was all his body allowed, and he hated himself for it. 

He hated that he couldn’t keep it together. He hated that their opinions meant so much to him despite them not caring about his. He hated that he was trapped, and that he could never see a future free of them. They’d keep him on a leash if they could, completely under their control, at their will, leading him - dragging him - along to their preferred destination.

Jamie wanted to run away into the London street and scream in the middle of the road as it rained in the dark. He wanted to get out of the city, out of the country, off the planet, wherever they couldn’t find him, wherever he could be free from their suffocating expectations.

He stared at the cadet uniform, ironed and hanging on his door, and he wanted to burn it. He didn’t, but he thought about it. He had a lighter in his pocket too, so he could, but he didn’t, he wouldn’t. 

It was hard for him to imagine his future. Other kids talked about it, about what Sixth Forms they’ll be going to, about universities, their married partners and kids and homes with little welcome mats and scented candles. Jamie tried but he couldn’t imagine a future. Maybe he was special like that.

He wiped his eyes, scrubbed the tears from his face and started changing. Cadets, but he wasn’t going. He’d get dropped off outside the building, waving his father goodbye, and then sneak away. He would be alone for a few hours, loitering in a park most likely, craving cigarettes but too young to buy them himself.

At least he’d have peace.

Maybe.

Probably not. He doubted his mind would let up enough for peace, but at least he’d be away from his parents. That was all he could ask for these days, the freedom of a fourteen year old was limited.

Maybe one day he would get out of London, out of their grasp. He wondered where he would end up in a few years, when he would turn eighteen and things would open up for him, but would he finally be free?

Jamie thought, as he straightened his neckerchief, if family was really worth it. People always talked about it like it was wonderful, but not in his experience. He didn’t need family. Family was overrated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i kinda like this bit at the end; we can see how low young jamie is, how he doesn't really think family matters or that it'll ever mean anything to him, and then we see in the other chapters the haunt of his past, but also how he now has a family he loves and that love him - we can look at young jamie and tell him it'll all be okay, that it will get better
> 
> thank you everyone who stayed with this, i have to say it's been one of my favourite things i wrote this year, and your support is valued  
> happy holidays to those that celebrate and to those that don't i hope you have a good rest of 2020

**Author's Note:**

> i like that since we know basically nothing about jamie pre-midsomer, we all do our own backstories, and they're always sad; we also just go with "jamie had a miserable childhood and his parents were never there for him and he feels like he can't breath around them" and never "jamie's childhood was great and he's loved for who he is"
> 
> why are we like this??


End file.
